


Break

by Fierygirl0 (orphan_account)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Horses, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Fierygirl0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aizen is a famed horse trainer, and his employee Grimmjow just brought back an absolutely stunning - and completely wild - black stallion with an almost orange mane, and something about the stallion seems almost... Human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break

"So how many did you have in mind, Baraggan?" I ask, crossing one leg over the other and gracing the older man, Baraggan Loiusenbairn, with a soft smile, "I have forty-seven available and ready at the moment, any number over that will of course take extra time to prepare."

Baraggan grumbles something incomprehensible, a scowl etched on his brow then raises his voice and replies, "I'd need them within weeks, and your prices are outrageous."

His scowl deepens but I maintain my smile and ignore it without as much as a twitch. I've played this game many times before. I don't change my prices or the time involved for anyone. Not lords or even the King himself. My business is an art, and I refuse to cheapen or fake it.

"I could go to Yamamoto. He trains horses in half the time, and half the cost too."

I chuckle, my smile slipping into a smirk, "You could indeed…but we both know that Yamamoto's horses are inferior to mine. Mine are bred and trained to work twice as hard and last twice as long. You've seen the proof of it yourself. They're worth exactly what I ask for them."

"True enough," Baraggan sighs in defeat and rises from the chair opposite me, "Very well, Aizen."

I follow the older man to his feet, a smirk still firmly twisting my lips, "Do we have an agreement then?"

Baraggan nods, beckoning over one of his attendees. The much younger man had been standing silently by the door for our hour long negotiation, but at Baraggan's hand motion he approaches and helps the older man into his coat.

"I'll want seventy. Thirty for work and forty trained for the King's army. Think you can handle that, Aizen?"

"Of course. Provided you have the money on hand, you can leave with the thirty work horses now."

The older man gives a grunt of satisfaction then replies, "It's not with me. I'll be back within the week."

I incline my head, moving to open the door for the older man, "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Baraggan."

The lord snorts, moving out the door, and I follow.

"The feeling's mutual, Lord Aizen, although you always manage to cost me more than I intend to spend."

I allow the door to shut behind us, step onto the gravel path and then move forward to walk beside Baraggan towards where the older man's carriage is parked.

My office is backed up against the high wooden fence that surrounds my massive ranch, not a hundred feet from the main entrance. Directly next to my office is the main barracks-style housing for my employees, along with other essential buildings (Including a mess hall and my own private house, among other things). Across from them, on the opposite side of the main gate, are the stables – row upon row of them. My ranch can hold up to three hundred horses at one time, and there have been occasions where we've used all the space.

In the middle, directly in front of the entrance, are ten rectangular training corrals with hard packed dirt floors. The fences are chest high, sturdy metal posts sunk deep into the earth to stand against a horse's weight. Beyond them are pastures, grasslands, and a farm where a local supply of food and wheat is grown. We're almost a hundred miles from the nearest town, and in my opinion that's a good thing. With the solitude comes peace, autonomy, and the space necessary to train my horses the way I like to.

"Aizen, who is that? I think I would've remembered seeing a stallion like that in your tour."

I turn my head in the direction Baraggan indicates. In the closest of the corrals is a pure black stallion with a nearly orange mane and tail, and my breath catches for a moment. The creature is magnificent. Its coat is shimmering with light and its mane flowing in the light breeze. I'm quite certain I don't have a horse even vaguely like this one – I certainly would have recalled training a stallion like that.

"He's not one of mine, Baraggan."

There's a cluster of perhaps fifteen of my employees at the edge of the corral and one turns and jogs towards us. She slows and stops several feet away, giving a short bow first to me and then to Baraggan. Her green eyes are unwavering and serious, blond hair rustling in the wind.

"Lord Aizen, may I speak with you?"

Baraggan snorts and turns to leave, his assistant following at his heels. I can't help a chuckle at the older man's dismissive behavior. "Of course, Halibel. What is it?"

She half turns and gestures one hand towards the corral and, specifically, the stallion it contains. "Grimmjow and Ulquiorra picked him up, sir. They got back about twenty minutes ago. He's the wildest I've ever seen."

I start towards the corral and Halibel follows, staying half a pace behind me. My eyes flick over the stallion, which is remaining strangely still for a wild horse.

"He's certainly striking. Has Szayel taken a look at him?" My resident vet, slash, medic is certainly odd but good at his job. I personally handpicked all of the top members of my team, and I don't accept anything but the best.

"Only from a distance, sir. Szayel says he's a mixed breed, but that there's definitely some Akhal-Teke in there. I would agree, but a breed like that shouldn't be anywhere near here, not a wild one anyway."

As we get closer, and I can see the stallion more clearly, I begin to agree with Szayel's assessment. The stallion's longer legs, thinner-than-average neck and torso, and the shimmer in the coat are all distinctive of an Akhal-Teke. But the color most Akhal-Teke are known for is a shining silvery-gold, and there certainly aren't any with a color like this. Additionally, Akhal Teke are of Russian origin which means there certainly shouldn't be any wild ones here. The only theory that makes sense is that one of the stallion's parents escaped captivity and bred into a wild herd. That would explain the foreign breed, the color, and the wild behavior.

Grimmjow steps out of the crowd as I get closer, moving to intercept and walk beside me. I glance over at him and softly ask, "Grimmjow, I hear you have a new stallion for me?"

His grin widens and my employee laughs, "Fuck yeah I do. The bastard fought us every step of the way, till we got him in that corral. He's much calmer now."

I come to a stop next to the fence, Halibel on my left and Grimmjow on my right.

"I assume this crowd is a group you gathered to attempt riding him?"

"Yeah, but honestly I wouldn't put anyone but one of us espada on that horse. Ulquiorra and I barely managed to drag him back here."

The stallion turns like it knows it's being talked about and takes a few steps closer with a curious tilt to its head. There's something intelligent in its large brown eyes – something that feels strangely human. I've met many horses, many of them very intelligent, but I've never had one look at me like that.

"I was planning on going first if you don't have a problem with it, Aizen," Grimmjow isn't really requesting my permission, of course. He's only asking to maintain a semblance of formality – the minimum he can get away with. Naturally.

I murmur my consent, eyes narrowing slightly and without hesitation Grimmjow slips between the bars of the fence. The stallion is oddly still as Grimmjow moves towards it. Its only movement is a slight turn of its head to keep the blue haired man in sight. It stays motionless even as Grimmjow lays a hand on its side and then swings up on its back in one smooth motion.

I allow my brow to crease in a slight frown, watching my employee settle onto the stallion's back. The way Grimmjow and Halibel describe it, the stallion is wild to the core. It shouldn't have accepted a rider nearly that easily if it's even half as wild as they claim.

Grimmjow's hands curl into the stallion's mane, legs shifting against its sides, and then he gives a sharp but wordless shout of command, ramming his heels into its ribs. It doesn't do much more than shift in response, shaking its head slightly.

Odd, fascinating.

The stallion turns its head to look at me, and I could swear that its eyes are bright with challenge – and still inexplicably human in nature – before it suddenly rears, nearly throwing Grimmjow immediately. The second it hits the ground it's off and running. Twisting and bucking before slamming to a stop, only to instantly jump forward again. The stallion is silent apart from the thudding of its hooves – another odd thing to add to the list – but Grimmjow makes up for it by yelling and whooping in excitement as he clings to its back. He's clearly taking the violent attempts to throw him in stride, and I watch the show silently, studying the stallion's movements.

That is until the stallion turns and runs straight at the fence, pivoting at the last moment to slam its side, and its rider's leg, against the metal with all the force of its momentum. Grimmjow cries out in pain, and the next bucking twist of the black stallion throws him to the ground.

"Get Szayel," I snap to Halibel, immediately turning to the gathered crowd with a second order, "Get him out of there!"

Alarm spikes as the stallion turns and bears down on Grimmjow, rearing over him. Grimmjow shouts in fear, arms curling protectively over his head. Hooves slam down, and for a moment I expect to see blood and one very dead rider, until I realize that the stallion's hooves are planted on either side of Grimmjow's head with mere inches to spare.

Grimmjow slowly uncurls, looking up at the stallion, and it bares its teeth, finally making a noise in the form of an ear piercing scream of challenge and defiance. Everything is still and silent for a few seconds. The two employees that have moved to retrieve Grimmjow freeze halfway to the downed rider, who is barely daring to breathe beneath the stallion. Finally, after a short eternity, the horse draws back and moves away from the blue haired man. My employees rush forwards, grab Grimmjow by the arms and drag him out of the corral. The stallion watches them, head held high and not even breathing hard. It makes no move to stop them.

Szayel rushes up with Halibel and Ulquiorra at his heels as Grimmjow is pulled from the corral. Szayel quickly falls to his knees to tend to the blue haired man and I move closer, keeping one eye on the stallion, to stand over both of them. Szayel's hands are sure and firm, pressing on Grimmjow's leg as the rider groans and curses, neck arched back and eyes clenched shut. After a few moments Szayel places one hand on either side of the blue haired man's leg and jerks. There's a sharp crack and Grimmjow cries out, paling. Szayel stands, brushing dirt off his white pants, and snaps at the two employees still standing nearby.

"Take him back to his room. I need to put a cast on that."

The employees rush to obey, lifting Grimmjow and pulling him away, back towards the cluster of buildings. Halibel and Szayel follow but Ulquiorra stays where he is, staring past me at the stallion.

"Lord Aizen, may I try my hand at it?" Ulquiorra's tone is calm, quiet, but his eyes are just barely narrowed.

I know why. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow are in a relationship (though that isn't public knowledge) and have been for over four years now. I'd never have bet on the two vastly different men finding happiness together, but somehow it's happened. Grimmjow is fiercely protective of the much smaller male, and Ulquiorra returns the favor just as whole heartedly. Perhaps this is exactly what I need. Ulquiorra is a brilliant rider usually, but he'll be even better now that he's motivated.

"Go ahead, Ulquiorra, but be careful. I can't afford two of my best riders out of commission. We have a large order to fill for Lord Baraggan."

The smaller man nods, giving a short bow before moving towards the corral. Again, the stallion doesn't move as Ulquiorra slips through the bars and approaches. I step up to the fence, motioning one of the more prominent members of the eleven employees still milling about over to me. The man, tall and with long blonde hair, walks over to me, inclining his head.

"Lord Aizen. What is it?"

I smirk, watching Ulquiorra cautiously approach the stallion. "Disperse this group for me, Il Forte. And fetch Stark, please."

Il Forte bows, hand to his chest, "Yes, sir."

The blonde haired man returns to the group, speaking softly, and they scatter. Il Forte moves off towards the stables and I return my attention to the corral./p>

Ulquiorra is standing by the stallion, looking like no more than a child next to it, with a hand on its side. The stallion shakes its head, watching the small man, and gives a snort. Again, the stallion is far too human, and though I may be anthropomorphizing, I swear it's giving Ulquiorra a look of disbelief. It's understandable, really. But what Ulquiorra lacks in strength and size he makes up for in speed and cunning, always able to predict what a horse will do before it happens and adjust accordingly. I would not have taken him under my wing otherwise.

He mounts the stallion with little difficulty. His small hands curl into the horse's mane and I can see his legs tighten around its sides. The stallion snorts again, taking several small steps forward, before it gives what seems like a very half hearted kick, throwing its back legs into the air. Ulquiorra easily keeps his balance. His eyes narrow just a fraction and he says something. It's too quiet for me to hear, but the stallion tosses its head, looking back over its shoulder at the man on its back. Ulquiorra speaks again, and the horse's ears pin back against its skull as it gives a soft nicker, like it's disagreeing with something. Ulquiorra's eyes narrow, irritation sparking, and he speaks one last time. The stallion's head swings forward and it gives the closest approximation to a shrug I've ever seen a horse do before it rears.

This time, it makes noises. It neighs and screams, throwing itself around the corral in circles that make me dizzy in sympathy. Ulquiorra is a silent shadow pressed against its back, barely reacting to the harsh twists at all. It gives just as much as before, and maybe a little extra, but Ulquiorra sticks stubbornly in place. I can't help but smirk. The stallion won't throw Ulquiorra easily, not when the small man has something to prove. Perhaps Stark won't be needed after all.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my top rider ambles up. His grey eyes are serious, if half-lidded, and fixed on the stallion. His shoulder length brown hair is mussed, bits of hay still sticking in it, but I don't need that to know that Il Forte had found him napping in one of the stables. Stark may be lazy, but he's never failed to tame – I prefer to avoid the word 'break' – a horse, and he can train them just as well as I can. Additionally, any jobs I do give him are always carried out quickly and expertly… even though he sleeps most of the day away.

He comes to a stop next to me, one hand rising to comb through his hair as he leans against the fence. I don't speak and neither does he – both of us are content to watch Ulquiorra take on the wild horse.

It goes well, and I start to actively believe that Stark won't be needed, till the stallion throws itself forward, front legs bending. I see the danger at the same time as Ulquiorra. The smaller man leaps off the horse, neatly getting clear of the stallion as it slams to the ground on its back and smoothly rolls back to its feet. If Ulquiorra had still been on its back he would have been crushed. A larger man – Grimmjow or Stark or I – could handle it with only a few bruises, but Ulquiorra's small frame can't.

The stallion whirls towards Ulquiorra, who is already running towards the nearest part of the fence, and chases him out, teeth nipping at the air behind the smaller man. Ulquiorra slips between the fence's bars, immediately moving around the corral towards Stark and me. The stallion follows on the opposite side of the fence, ears still pinned back against its skull. Ulquiorra's eyes have clear irritation in them, and Stark straightens up from his slouch and takes a step away from the fence as Ulquiorra and the stallion approach.

"Sorry, Lord Aizen."

I shake my head as Ulquiorra joins us and the stallion comes to a stop on the other side of the fence.

"No need to apologize, Ulquiorra," I glance over at Stark, who is watching the stallion with a steady gaze, "Stark, do you believe you could ride him?"

The other man is silent for a few moments and the stallion looks first at him and then at me, eyes challenging. Stark shifts and responds, his voice deep and slow, "No, Lord Aizen."

I look over at him, raising an eyebrow, and he shrugs, "Never seen a horse like that before. And I've never seen any horse go a round with Grimmjow or Ulquiorra without having to catch its breath. To be able to manage both of them in a row is a little scary."

It's true. Neither Grimmjow nor Ulquiorra went easily, so the stallion _should_ be at least a little winded, but it's not. It's completely unaffected, suggesting endurance beyond anything I've seen before. I watch the stallion and it returns my stare, raising its head and snorting.

"Then I'll do it."

Stark's eyes flicker in surprise and Ulquiorra straightens up. Their surprise is understandable. There have been very few horses I've ever had to step in for. Most of the time I reserve my talents for training already tamed horses. However Gin, my second in command, is out on a job at the moment, and in his absence I am the only rider better than Stark in the entire ranch.

"Stark, make sure he gets food, and water. We'll have our fight in the morning." The stallion's tosses its head, shifts its weight, and tilts its ears towards me.

Stark nods and stifles a yawn behind his hand, "Sure you don't want to ride him now, Lord? He must be worn down at least a little after this."

I smirk, giving a quiet chuckle, and look the stallion in the eye, "That wouldn't be fair, now would it, Stark? He deserves the chance to prove himself impossible to ride."

Stark mumbles an agreement, turning to leave, and Ulquiorra follows silently with a brief incline of his head to me. I give a slight bow of my head to the stallion, half turning to return to my office. "Till tomorrow, stallion."

And, oddly, I could swear the soft whinny the stallion gives is an answer to my words.

* * *

The next day, just past dawn, I'm back at the corral. The stallion is awake, alert and looking even more stunning under the soft rays of the morning sun than it had yesterday. It's standing in the middle of the corral – motionless except for the rise and fall of its sides as it breathes. Only Ulquiorra, Stark, Halibel, and Szayel are present, though Grimmjow had thrown a serious fit when Szayel had told him he had to stay in bed. Broken legs don't heal magnificently if you try and walk on them, after all.

I slip through the metal fence and move towards the stallion with sure strides. If it maintains its behavior, it won't fight me until I'm on its back. It's a weirdly honorable behavior, like the stallion thinks it has to give you a fair chance. Rather like my own behavior. Though, honestly, it isn't only the concept of giving the stallion a fair fight that drove me to this showdown. I'm perfectly aware of that. The stallion is too intelligent to tame by ganging up on it and driving it into exhaustion as a team. Doing that would only tell it that we believe one of us could never handle it alone, and it would never fully submit to us. However, if I can do it by myself, it should recognize my dominance.

_Should_.

I despise that word.

The stallion gives a soft snort as I approach, but maintains its previous behavior and doesn't move. I lay a hand on its neck, feeling the flex of muscle beneath my hand, and give a soft laugh, "Ready?"

His head dips in what I swear is a nod, and I slip my other hand over its back for leverage. One movement has me on its back and I take a moment to settle in, feeling out the dimensions of the stallion. I take a handful of its mane with my right hand and slide my left across its neck, bending low across its back.

"Then let's go, stallion."

He doesn't even hesitate.

The moment it leaps forwards I understand why Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had failed. The strength I can feel under my legs is monumental – equal to or perhaps even surpassing the strength of much bigger breeds. That's just one more thing to add to the list of things about this stallion that aren't right. It's fast too, equal to some of my better racing horses, but that's more in line with what an Akhal-Teke should be. Even more interesting, to me at least, is that I can tell the stallion isn't truly giving it everything he has. That should scare me, I suppose, but instead I only feel anticipation, and my lips curl into a smirk. Whether I win or lose this fight, it will be something to remember.

The stallion stays traditional for awhile, limiting itself to bucks, twists, and skidding stops, but then it grows more inventive. It starts with the same trick it'd used against Grimmjow, charging the fence head on and then turning at the last second to try to slam my left leg against the fence. I slide my left foot up and my right back, pressing and forcing the stallion to turn more than it intends so the only thing that hits the fence is its flank, though even that makes the metal rattle. The stallion screams at me for that, ears lying flat against its skull, and immediately tries again. I do the same thing.

It throws itself down and rolls over its back to standing, and I endure. It hurts a little – how could the weight of a horse being thrown onto you _not_? – but I can handle pain, and I do, calmly maintaining my grip so the stallion pulls me up with it. Frustrated, it rears into the air with another scream. I immediately lean forwards, looping my arm around its neck as far as I can and bearing all my weight down to force the stallion to the ground. Perhaps the most dangerous thing the stallion could do is fall backwards on me, and I'm sure it knows that. That kind of fall could break one or more of my limbs or ribs, along with the minute chance that it'll just kill me outright. I'd really prefer to avoid that, understandably.

It slams back to the ground, only still for a brief second before it's off again in a dizzying series of loops and twists. I allow myself to sink into a sort of trance, heedless of the slowly growing crowd or the rise of the sun as time passes or anything beyond the corral and the stallion between my legs. That corral is my world, and the stallion is my only focus.

Focused as I am, I notice it the moment it happens. A tiny tremble of muscles as the stallion bucks, throwing its back legs into the air, and my lips curve into a smirk. The stallion is tiring.

That tremble grows more pronounced as our dance continues, and I can feel the stallion's sides heaving against my legs. Its struggles grow weaker, or at least not as ridiculously powerful as they previously were. The incredible strength is finally failing the stallion. I don't relax though. A weakening horse will usually take more drastic measures, and I'd prefer not to get eliminated this late in our game because I made the mistake of underestimating the stallion.

It throws itself to the ground a few more times, slower in rising than before, and I ignore the pain. It goes straight from that to charging the fence to slam me into it, which I counter with a twist of my legs. The stallion crashes into the metal fence and staggers, struggling to find its footing. As it regains its balance it stills, head drooping, sides heaving, and I can feel it trembling in exhaustion beneath me.

I don't relax, but I straighten by a few inches, left hand sliding over its sweat coated neck.

"Done, stallion?" I ask softly.

The black stallion snorts, tensing beneath me as if it's about to run again, before it gives a shuddering sigh and relaxes. I don't loosen my grip on its mane or the squeeze of my legs on its sides, but I slide out of my trance and glance around the corral. What looks to be my entire team of fifty some employees (minus Grimmjow) are standing around the outside of the fence and as I look up, the cheering starts. The stallion gives a snort and I can practically feel the indignation emanating from the horse.

"Easy, stallion. I doubt they've ever seen a show like we just put on, cut them some slack."

It snorts again, head raising a few inches as the trembling of its muscles eases a little. I make a soft sound of reassurance, urging the stallion forward with a light tap of my heels, and it obeys. I guide it towards where Halibel, Szayel, Ulquiorra, and Stark are waiting, and I'm pleased to see that none of them are participating in the cheering. I slow the stallion next to them, looking down, and give a slight nod to Ulquiorra. The small man nods back, barely visible gratitude in his eyes, before he turns and pushes his way out of the crowd. He's heading towards the housing area and, undoubtedly, Grimmjow.

Szayel adjusts his glasses, looking up at me with calculating admiration in his eyes, "That was very impressive, Lord Aizen. Are you injured?"

I smirk, raising an eyebrow, "No, Szayel, though he gave me quite a challenge. I'll be fine."

I'm sore, in truth. Now that I am out of my trance, my body is complaining about the ordeal I put it through. My thighs ache, my back is sore, my arms twinge with every movement, but given rest I'll be just fine, if a little bruised. "Halibel, open the corral gate."

She starts, eyes widening a little. "Sir?"

I chuckle and watch as the stallion's ears twist back towards me, "This is a temporary surrender. I'm taking him for a run, so he can learn me as I've learned him."

Her eyes are still shadowed with doubt, but she nods in acceptance, moving around the corral and through the crowd towards the single gate that faces the main entrance, roughly forty feet from us and on a different side of the rectangular corral.

The stallion snorts, raises his head, and turns towards the gate at my urging, although he doesn't move at the tap of my heels. Instead he gives a whinny that sounds almost amused. His muscles bunch underneath me, and then he takes off at a dead run towards the gate. My eyes widen as the stallion, without apparent effort, easily leaps the nearly five and a half foot fence with at least two feet to spare. The crowd scatters with cries of alarm and the stallion lands without so much as a stumble. Then he slows to a stop. He whinnies again, head turning to look at me with amusement bright in the brown eyes.

"You're certainly full of surprises, stallion."

He snorts and I smirk, the heaving of his sides almost completely gone, "Come on, let's see how fast you can go."

* * *

The answer, I find out pretty quickly, is _very fast_. I was wrong before – this Akhal-Teke's speed surpasses any race horse I've ever trained. He's breathing hard again by the time I slow him to a stop at a small pool miles away from my ranch, deep in the forest that separates us from a mountain range. I slip off his back, just barely stumbling at the sharp pain that flares in my legs. I ignore it with the ease of practice, straightening up, and stroke my hand over the stallion's side.

"You're one hell of a ride, stallion."

The stallion looks up at me, one ear swiveling in my direction, and gives a tiny shake of his head. He's trembling, obviously completely and totally exhausted. I click my tongue softly to get his attention. I gesture at the pool of water and the stallion gives a soft nicker, moving slowly towards the pool. He takes several long drinks as I stand by him, one hand stroking over his sweat soaked side. I move away from the pool, sinking to sit with my back against a tree, and his head rises to look at me.

"Why didn't you leave?" I ask softly, my eyes narrowing.

The stallion gives a huff of breath, stepping away from the pool and towards me. He moves to stand next to me, head level with my own. I raise a hand to stroke over his muzzle and he allows the touch – his nearly orange mane hanging down his forehead.

"You leapt that fence without a thought. You could have left at any point, so why didn't you?"

It's pointless, of course (what answer am I going to get from a horse?) but something in me still insists that this stallion is more than meets the eye. That he is human enough to understand me.

The stallion nickers and his legs fold beneath him to allow him to lie down. He rests his head in my lap, eyes sliding closed, and I automatically raise a hand to comb through his mane. We rest there for a while; completely at ease. Eventually his breathing returns to normal and he stops trembling, but he remains lying next to me.

I'm nearly asleep, and I'm pretty sure he is too, when I feel the weight on my legs lighten. My eyes flick open and I freeze at the sight that greets me, my eyes widening.

Lying in the dirt and grass next to me, head in my lap, is a human man… a _naked_ human man. He's maybe twenty, skin tan and healthy. He's lean, all muscle and hidden power, and while not small he certainly isn't my height. Layered, spiky, orange hair lies against the back of the man's neck, barely brushing his shoulders. It's the _exact_ same shade as the stallion's mane. The fact that the man is tilted forwards and has one leg drawn slightly up is the only thing that keeps me from seeing him in all his glory. Though I do have a perfect view of his ass, and it's a very nice ass in my opinion.

The man stirs and I focus as his head tilts back and his eyes flick open to look at me. They're brown, just like the stallion's, and tired. However they widen in surprise as they focus in on me. Quite suddenly the man jerks up to sitting and swings his gaze around the clearing and then down at himself with shock clear in his eyes. His eyes fill with wonder after a moment. His hands are braced against the ground, his head hanging between them, and the man laughs in obvious relief. His voice is low and husky, not nearly deep as mine, but not as high as Szayel's either.

I watch the man for a moment, sliding my gaze over him, before speaking.

"I think you owe me an explanation."

The man looks up at me, grinning. "For why the horse that was just on your lap is now human?"

I raise an eyebrow, not even dignifying that with an answer, and he laughs again, "Yeah, fair enough."

He shifts, muscles working smoothly as he moves to sit cross legged, only his own hands preserving any semblance of modesty. I keep my eyes carefully trained on his face.

"To start with, I'm a shifter. I can turn into any animal I want, though my natural form is human. I'm centuries old, more than I care to count, and I've been a horse for the past three hundred and fifty or so years. Which has been _terrible_ , by the way, but I was stuck."

I almost get up and leave. Of course, I know of old legends that speak of humans that the gods gifted with power to become animals, but they're just that. Legends. They're not real… except for, apparently, the one sitting next to me. My disbelief must show on my face because he smirks.

"I'll prove it later, stick with me. I ran into a god, down on earth for some recreational time or something, and I kind of pissed him off. He told me to do something and I refused, and, well, gods get kind of irritated when you disobey them." The man scowls, old anger rising in his eyes. "Not that he had any damn right to order me around, shifters aren't under his rule and I was perfectly free to do what I wanted."

He shakes his head and his scowl eases, but irritation lingers in the man's eyes.

"He cursed me, trapping me in the form I hated most till I learned the meaning of submission. And, well…" He gaze rises to me, gratitude in his eyes. "No one's ever managed to ride me till you, and you were completely fair about it. I've never accepted the command of _anyone_ , god or otherwise, until you."

I stay silent, digesting the information and my gaze locks with the man's until my mind filters one comment out.

"Prove it. If a horse is the form you hate the most, what's your favorite?"

His eyes flash in surprise, but then he smirks. His head arches back, eyes closing, and he _ripples._ Quite suddenly he is no longer human, and instead there's a massive tiger sitting there. It watches me with golden eyes before it stands and stretches in an arch, claws digging into the soft earth.

Well, I suppose that settles it.

Gods. Shifters. Legends – all of it is _true_.

That's one hell of a thing to wrap my mind around, and it takes me a few minutes of mental struggle, but I do it. I have always had the opinion that there's no use in trying to deny truth when it's staring you in the face, and that certainly helps me with this. I have a shifter sitting next to me in the form of a tiger, who was human a few minutes ago and a horse before that. What use would there be in denying the existence of gods and creatures of legend?

Another ripple, like the air itself is distorting around him, and the shifter is human again, once again cross legged. "Can I answer any questions?"

"You said you were centuries old. Does that mean you're immortal?"

The shifter shrugs, brown eyes warm and amused, "More or less. We can be killed, but it's not easy. We grow to our early twenties and then stop. I'll be this age till I die – if I ever do – but humans that we give the gift will freeze at whatever age they were when we gave it to them. The same rules apply for death though."

That explains the age comment, certainly. "You can turn humans into shifters?" He nods, but doesn't expand on the affirmative, "And you can be killed?"

He gives a soft smile, one eyebrow rising. "I'm keeping how to myself, no offense."

Understandable.

"So that curse broke because you submitted to me?"

"Yeah," A light flush spreads over the shifter's nose and cheeks as he continues, "Thanks, by the way. I gave up any hope of getting out of that form a long time ago."

"You're welcome, of course," I chuckle, amusement rising as a thought occurs to me, "I'm not used to seeing people naked before I even know their names."

The shifter's eyes widen and then he gives an embarrassed laugh, "You know, I've been a horse so long I didn't even think about it?"

He holds out a hand in greeting and a crooked smile twists his lips.

"I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, Lord Aizen."

I take the offered hand and shake it, "Sousuke, please. It would be a mite strange to be formal considering I've already ridden you into exhaustion."

The shifter, Ichigo, is speechless for several moments, eyes wide. I decide on the spot that embarrassing the younger looking man is going to become a full time exercise for me, assuming he sticks around. There's something very satisfying about knowing I can still embarrass, surprise, and even shock a creature many centuries older than me with nothing but words.

"That's not…! I…" He glares at me and jerks his hand from my grasp, that same flush now completely covering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. I suppress the laugh that wants to escape me into a chuckle, amusement warm in my chest.

"My apologies, I was merely stating a fact." Perhaps the lingering smirk disproves my words, but they still have the intended effect. Ichigo's glare eases, though it doesn't go away completely. "So, will you be staying, Ichigo?"

The shifter winces, one hand rising to rake through his hair. "I don't really have a choice about that, so yeah." I raise one eyebrow in question and he gives a tiny shrug. "Being a shifter comes with downsides. In a lot of ways I'm more animal than human, and I get all kinds of instinctive pack things that I can't control. You forced me into submission when I challenged you, so I'm yours. It's really that simple. Unless you give me permission to leave, or you somehow mistreat me horribly, I have to stay."

My brow creases in a small frown.

I have never, _never_ , forced anyone to follow me. My employees work for me because they respect me, or simply because I pay well, but none because I demanded it. I pride myself in my ability to inspire others to work for me and the very thought of controlling another sentient being against their will leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"If you wish to leave, Ichigo, you may." His eyes widen in obvious surprise, and I consciously smooth out my frown. "I will not force you to remain."

"I… Really? You'd let me go?" Ichigo's voice is cautious, wary, and his brown eyes have narrowed to disbelieving slits, "All that effort to ride me and you'll just let me walk away?"

I raise an eyebrow, studying the shifter and reply, "Of course. Horse or not, if you truly can't bear the thought of staying you're free to go."

I can't help wondering why, exactly, that surprises the shifter so much. Is there some reason he thinks I'd hold him against his will? He watches me for several long moments before he visibly relaxes and his eyes fall to the ground, "Thank you. That means more than you know."

"You're welcome. So, given that you _can_ go, will you stay?"

Ichigo looks back up at me, his eyes searching. He's quiet for several moments before his lips curl in a tiny smirk, "Do I have to stay as a horse?" The obviously teasing tone brings an answering smirk to my own face and I chuckle.

"It would be rather difficult to explain how I both lost the stallion and picked up a naked young man in the forest. Unless you'd be willing to take on that challenge?"

He makes a face and snorts, "Not so much."

I watch his eyes warm, his smirk turn to a slight smile. "Yeah, I'll stay. You seem decent enough."

I give a soft laugh and start to push myself to standing, ignoring the twinges of pain from my overused muscles, "I'll take that as a compliment, Ichigo."

I offer the shifter a hand and he takes it, letting me pull him to his feet. He straightens up and I do my best to keep my eyes on his face. For the most part, I succeed.

"You should. I don't tend to like most normal humans." He releases me and raises that same hand to rake through his hair, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips, "Ready to head back, Lord Aizen?"

"Of course, stallion."

He snorts and rolls his eyes, stepping back several paces, "If that's a nickname, I already don't like it."

There's that same ripple of space and Ichigo's the same stunning black horse I'd seen originally. He's pawing at the ground with one front hoof and while I watch he shakes his head, orange mane falling around his thick neck and down in front of his eyes.

I step forward and around him, sliding my hands over his side. "Then I'll come up with a different one. I need a name to introduce you by anyway. What about Kuro? I assume you'd like me to use at least part of your actual name."

He gives a soft huff and twists his head back, lightly butting my shoulder with his head. The shifter's brown eyes are warm, and they are also decidedly less unsettling now that I know there actually _is_ a human behind the façade of horse.

I lever myself onto his back, chuckling, "Kuro it is."

I take a handful of his mane with my right hand and rest my left on my thigh. "Knowing you're human beneath this certainly adds a much different flavor to riding, hm?"

Ichigo snorts and shifts beneath me, turning to plod back in the direction we'd originally come from. His strides are sure but slow.

For now.

I lean low over his back, dropping my left hand to his neck. "Let's fly, Kuro."

He practically does.


End file.
